


Don't make me dream alone

by Miralana



Series: This is where I belong [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bucky Barnes doesn't believe in anything, Bucky also doesn't really remember anything about heats and sex and stuff, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, Omega Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers beliefs in consent, mentions of past non-con, so bear with him and his not-knowing anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:58:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miralana/pseuds/Miralana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doctor asks him about something. Scent, instinct, Captain Rogers. He needs a moment to process the thought, to make the connection and there’s a weak memory coming up in his mind, where he feels a pull toward the man on the bridge – <i>man on the bridge, man on the bridge, where has he heard that before</i> – and he remembers the shudder going through his whole body – <i>he has to hurt him, has to punch the life right out of him because there’s no other explanation for this feeling, what else should it mean.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't make me dream alone

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal gratitude goes to [zepysgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zepysgirl) who is proofreading the whole series as of now.

They talk about the abuse his body has been under.

The constant strain of being put under and out of cryostasis again and again. The vitamins and muscle building supplements. The food that was only chosen because it’d give him strength since there were pills for everything else.

They talk about his training, about “pure brutality” and “trauma”.

They talk about too strong and illegal suppressants that are “fucking up his system as we speak”.

 

They ask him if he can smell anything –  _he can’t since a last shot of some kind of drug that “will make things easier for him around Captain Rogers, thank god” but he doesn’t tell them that._

They ask when his last heat had been –  _he doesn’t remember but for a second he’s thrown back onto a lab table, arms restrained, legs pushed apart and a faceless person above him, hurting him. Hurting so much._

They ask if he knows where Hydra put his implant –  _he lies and tells them no._

 

When they’re finished –  _looking unhappy and giving him pitying looks_  – another doctor enters. Beta, old, weak in the knees, easy target, but his arms are cuffed so strongly he pushes the thought aside for a moment.

The doctor is pretending to be friendly, giving him a reassuring smile that makes him want to strangle the man with his thighs –  _he thinks he did that once, long ago, bones cracking and a hand that’s hitting him, weaker and weaker._

 

The doctor asks him about some things. Scent, instinct, Captain Rogers. He needs a moment to process the thought, to make the connection and there’s a weak memory coming up in his mind, where he feels a pull toward the man on the bridge –  _man on the bridge, man on the bridge, where has he heard that before_  – and he remembers the shudder going through his whole body –  _he has to hurt him, has to punch the life right out of him because there’s no other explanation for this feeling, what else should it mean_.

He remembers losing the mask, hearing a name, seeing disbelief and hope – _he doesn’t expresses emotions himself but he was trained to recognise them because, when in fear for their lives, targets get emotional and become unpredictable_  – and then he remembers smelling, knowing, and that is not what he’s supposed to feel and it stays only for a second and then it’s gone, so he shoots because when the man on the bridge is dead that scent has to vanish.  _It has to, it has to, he doesn’t know what to do if it doesn’t._

But he gets sent on another assignment and the new man there makes him remember another person, a person who shouldn’t be there because he’s just a soldier, just a weapon, and then there’s this scent – again – a scent that he shouldn’t even be able to pick up because the drugs should be strong enough – but the drugs rely partly on the implant so the only logical explanation is that his implant is getting too old, running out of juice, and why didn’t he make that connection sooner?

 

So he has to get it out because a run out implant is not allowed, is not safe, he has to get to a Hydra base and get them to cut it out of his leg –  _back of his thigh, hand above the knee_  – and he needs to leave because these doctors won’t give him another implant, they talked about “getting it out of his system” and then the cuffs break around his metal arm, something –  _someone? Probably a person, what should it be otherwise_  – is screaming, he can hear footsteps before the door and a loud voice from the speakers and pressure on his throat and numbness, exhaustion creeping upon him and then silence.

 

–

 

When he wakes up it is like coming back from sleeping –  _the long one, not the normal one his brain tells him even if he’s not sure where the difference is_  – he feels disorientated and he clenches his hands because he’s strapped down –  _again and he knows what follows, there’s even the feeling from back then in his body. It’s only weak yet but it’s there_  – so he tries to free himself. It’s not successful this time either.

The moment his eyes open, there are voices filling the room, shadows coming near him and the scents hit him, because there are too many of them, so many and he needs to get out and he tries to move his leg. And that’s when he realises that there’s a slight pain, just a tiny little ache, in his leg, and he knows what they did.

His struggles grow stronger because there’s something inside him telling him to run, to fight, because he knows what happens next, he knows, and then there’s a voice, louder than everyone else.

“Out!”

“Captain, we really advise against this-“

“I said, out.”

Whoever was in the room before leaves it and now he realises that it’s not even the room he was in before which means he’s not in the lab anymore, he’s somewhere where it’s soft underneath him and somehow that makes it much worse.

“Hey,” says the voice and he recognises him as the man with the shield, the one who pretends to be his friend, the one who – he tries to stop his thoughts because he knows this won’t get him anywhere but it’s hard and he feels his hand starting to shake.

“Buck? I know this is probably really scary for you … um the docs pulled your implant out and let you sleep for about four hours. Apparently there was something else in your system? But it’s gone by now so…”

The man whose life he saved shrugs, unsure of what to say, and he tries to remember what they told him about the implant, about the drug. The scents come from the lack of drugs and a mask, he knows that, and the implant, the implant, there was something about the time the implant needed to… to… he can’t remember.

“Also your implant was some really horrible stuff? Like none of them had seen something like that, but it was apparently running low and um… with your metabolism you should have it out of your system tonight and you’re probably going to be in heat around tomorrow and after that they’re going to put you on suppression pills, legal stuff that will agree with your body.”

They’re going to put him in heat. The man from the Helicarrier can talk as much as he wants about his body and damage but he doesn’t believe him. He knows why someone would get him off the suppressants –  _how does he know, he’s pretty sure he didn’t remember before being knocked out, what is going on with his mind_  – so he doesn’t understand at all why the man with the shield is pretending that this is anything else than what it actually is. It’s pathetic and if they actually think that he’ll believe them they have another thing coming. He won’t let them do this to him again. Not again,  _never again._

“Hey, hey, pal, calm down.” There’s a hand on his arm and it doesn’t get better, it makes it worse. He has to get to Hydra, they’ll give him his implant back and make him stop… make him stop… make him stop fearing. They’ll fix this.

“Captain Rogers, I need you to step away from him. I think your presence is disturbing him.”

It’s the only thing he hears for a very long time, because no one enters the room after the man who was ready to be killed by him leaves.

 

–

 

They leave him be. There’s food and water at the door but he doesn’t dare get up, doesn’t dare try moving at all for the next few minutes, hours, days –  _controlling all of his bodily functions is something he knows how to do, something that is important, something that he needs to know no matter what because_  – but his body starts cramping and he tries to lie still because moving is bad, moving attracts attention but it’s getting so hot and it’s like he can’t breathe and he remembers this, remembers this  _somehow_.

He is overcome with a wave of memories: being strapped to a table, his head being pushed to the floor, his knees digging into the mattress. He tries to separate the memories, because one of them isn’t right, one of them doesn’t fit, but he doesn’t know how exactly to do that. He never had so many memories clouding his skull and some part of him knows that usually people don’t have problems like this, but it is not like he is a person, so maybe that is why.

In the end it’s his training that helps him because each memory has a different background and if he can distinguish between them, if he can sort them by the different surroundings then he can get to the target. It takes him a moment until he remembers that he is the target he’s trying to work with, that it’s not someone else, because he never had to think about himself  _like a person_.

He knows that in one memory he’s strapped to a table and it is dark, but he can feel someone above him.

In the other memory he’s kneeling on the ground and it is cold and his whole body is wet, hair hanging into his face and someone’s behind him.

He’s hurting in both.

The last memory –  _the one that sometimes tries to come to the surface when he’s thinking about the other ones_  – is similar. He’s kneeling on a mattress –  _a bed, maybe_  – and something is moving up and down and up and down and up and down and there’s a slight different pain in his lower body but somehow he doesn’t mind it, because with every move it’s fading and it’s feeling … he can’t describe it, doesn’t know it … and he’s leaning down, his hand gripping small, tiny shoulders and then he’s laughing.

He rolls himself into a small ball, fingers gripping the back of his knees. He thinks this might be the different memory. He can’t say what exactly makes it different, doesn’t understand why there should be good pain and why he’s not afraid of the tiny person, but he knows it’s different because he knows-

He blinks, because whatever thought he just had slipped his mind and he knows that he was so close to figuring out what is going on.

He thinks he feels angry, because his teeth are grinding against each other and his hands can’t stop clenching.

_It shouldn’t be like this._

What exactly shouldn’t be like this he doesn’t know, but he thinks there’s something wrong.

_There’s something wrong with him._

 

–

 

The man with the shield is back.

He thinks he might have blacked out for a second –  _but maybe it was more, he doesn’t have any sense of time left_  – and in that second the door opened and the man stepped in.

He follows the man with his gaze, as he sits down, directly in front of the door, and he remembers that he was afraid in his presence the last time –  _he believes it wasn’t so long ago but he doesn’t trust his brain because something is wrong_  – but now his fear and confusion have given way to anger.

He thinks about attacking the man because this is his fault –  _his scent was what started this, back then on the bridge when_  – and he stops in his thoughts because no, this isn’t right, the man with the shield is not the man on the bridge.  _But what man on the bridge?_

He sits up, his arms still curled around his legs and looks at the man. He doesn’t remember his face from before, only remembers it broken because he wouldn’t fight back, but he takes a deep breath and he thinks this might be familiar. He thinks he knows this and suddenly there’s another memory –  _or maybe it’s the same as before_  – and his hand is on the back of the neck of a tiny person –  _no not a tiny person,_  the  _tiny person from before_  – and he’s babbling, he thinks he might be begging and the tiny person seems insecure and tells him “no, what if you change your mind” and he doesn’t know what he does with his muscles but the tiny person is gasping and then he’s biting and he feels full, he feels right, he feels…

_Safe_

He comes back to himself, fingernails digging into his legs and he feels so angry because he can’t make the connection, the tiny person smells like the man on the bridge, smells like the man on the Helicarrier but they can’t be the same person.

He doesn’t understand why this makes him so angry but he’s done, he’s had enough of the confusion in his head.

“I’m glad to hear that.” The man says.

Silence follows.

“You said you’re done, that you’ve had enough?” The man tries and he swallows. He didn’t mean to say that, he didn’t want to.

“W-Why?” He asks and he’s surprised how hoarse his voice sounds. Maybe if the man can explain this, some things will start to make sense.

“Why I’m glad? Well… um… the doctors didn’t know if there- I mean, what they did to you, the brainwashing,  wiping your memory, nobody knew how much damage it did and if you even would be able to … well to think for yourself again.”

The man shrugs and he narrows his eyes. He doesn’t know what brainwashing means but wiping… he remembers the word, and the pain in his head and then darkness and it makes him even angrier.

“Buck?” The man says and it echoes in his head, just like it did when the scent hit him the first time.

“Where you tiny once?”

The question seems to take the man by surprise and he doesn’t even know why he asked it, didn’t plan to ask it, it just came out, but then the man chuckles and nods.

“Yeah, I was a really pathetic little alpha before they gave me the serum.” The man stops and this time he catches his gaze to look him in the eyes.

“But I had the most amazing omega by my side, never understood what he saw in me.”

_Amazing. Omega. By his side._

It takes him a moment to realise that the man is talking about him. He felt safe. He doesn’t say it this time, does everything to keep his mouth closed, but he knows that the omega… that he felt safe with the man.

He lets his head rest against the wall and closes his eyes, because he doesn’t know what else to do and he fears what’s coming.

 

–

 

“You always used to go through this in…  _stages_. Cramps, anger, and… well, the heat itself, we never really understood it. I think it might have to do something with hormones, at least that’s what the doctors say, and the medicine today is a lot better than it was back then so I think they’re right.”

The man has been talking for a while now and it somehow calms him. He started with things that made him smile, like that he had been too small to get to shelves when he had been little or that it had been horrible to find cheap trousers to wear.

There had been a moment when he had gotten so angry that his metal hand had snapped forwards to punch something, to find something to focus his anger on, and that had been the moment when the man had told him that it was okay, that it had happened before and this was actually him and not them.

He thinks  _them_  might have also been the people who hurt him so much, but he isn’t sure.

The anger has passed since and he’s getting warmer by the minute. The man has started to look a bit uncomfortable in the last few minutes, like he can smell him, but he doesn’t know if that’s a thing.

“And I read this article, not because I’m that fond of them but Sam told me about it when we were looking for you, that a few thousand years ago it was totally normal for Omegas to fight against Alphas right before the heat, because the anger makes them stronger. And sometimes they lost but sometimes they would win and then they picked their mate from the Alphas they had defeated. And I had to think about you, because you always got so angry, and then I had to think about me, and I wondered what would have happened if we lived in that time.”

“I would have beaten you. And then picked you anyway.” He says and he freezes with his hand half to his head to get the hair out of his eyes. He didn’t mean to say that, he doesn’t even know where that came from.

The man just stares at him and then he starts grinning so wide it looks like his face might split in two.

“The doctors said this could happen. That maybe the longer you aren’t wiped the more memories might come back. And additionally to that, with your body free of any kind of chemicals it might even happen a lot faster.”

The man tones his smile down a bit, when he sees that he still hasn’t moved.

“Bucky, are you okay?”

He thinks he might be. Or not. He doesn’t know what to concentrate on, the memories coming through his head and leaving again or the ache in his lower body.

“I’m sorry.” He says because somehow there’s the need to apologise in his mind even if he doesn’t know what for and the man raises his hand. Maybe his memories are right and he does feel safe with the man, because he doesn’t even thinks about flinching at the raised hand.

“Never apologize for your memories, Buck.”

Memories. Had he been apologising for saying that? He doesn’t know, doesn’t know what exactly makes him say and do certain things. The word instinct is coming to his mind and he doesn’t think he understands why this has anything to do with it, but what does he know anyway.

Then the man breathes in and wiggles his eyebrows.

“I think I should go, your scent is getting strong.”

No, no, he doesn’t want him to leave, he has never felt so… comfortable in the presence of another person before, the man is the only thing that makes sense at the moment. What is he going to do without him? He doesn’t want to face this alone.

“Don’t.  _Please_.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The man says and of course it’s not. He might feel safe with the man but what he feels isn’t important, it never was because he shouldn’t feel.

Whatever he actually feels – because he can’t quite name it – it must mean something to the man because he starts talking again.

“It’s not that I don’t want to stay, Buck, god I miss you so much, but I don’t want to hurt you and we’re bonded so I don’t know how good my control is.”

He doesn’t understand. He feels safe, his memories tell him that he felt safe with the man before why would the man hurt him, he doesn’t understand this. He also doesn’t understand what bonded means, but the thought of biting, of that one memory comes through his head and he thinks he likes that thought.

“It’s because of what happened to you. If I can’t control myself, than I’m no better than them, Bucky, and I can’t let something like this happen again.”

Something like this. Something like this. Something like the times when they hurt him, probably. There’s nothing else that makes sense even if he’s not sure if he’s right about it.

He doesn’t know what he looks like but the man looks away, rubs one hand over his face and then bangs the back of his head against the door.

“You need to promise me, that you will knock me out, when I try anything, okay?” The man asks and he nods, even if he knows that he won’t. The presence of the man is so calming, it’s the only thing that makes sense and he won’t make him go away because he thinks he’s hurting him – whatever that means in the end he still can’t figure out the pictures in his head.

“Can you come closer?” He asks and the man sighs unhappily.

“Yeah, sure, just remember, okay?”

He nods again, knowing that he won’t care.

 

–

 

It’s been going on for hours –  _and he only knows that because the man told him that_  – and it won’t stop. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t know how to make it go away – _even if there’s some kind of_ urge _in him that he can’t explain_.

He has thought about asking the man but he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to explain how he feels. He just feels hot, so hot that he had abandoned his shirt some time ago. He doesn’t miss it, because it’s not getting any colder in the room.

Instead he just buries his fingers in the man’s trousers and rests his forehead on his thigh. The man has been obviously uncomfortable for the past hours, has been fidgeting and trying to find a better position to sit apparently, but his fingers remain in his hair, gently caressing the sweat covered scalp and it feels good, it makes him feel safer, even if the feeling slowly makes room for  _that urge that need_.

“Buck?” The man says and he whimpers because it’s getting worse and worse. He has been asking the same questions for hours,  _how does he feel, does he need anything, should he go?_

“Need… something.” He manages to say and he flinches when another wave of heat runs through him.

“Don’t know what.” He mumbles into the leg and he thinks he might hear the man gulp.

“Shit… okay, does it hurt?”

“Mhm.”

“Where?”

He shrugs because there is this pull in his lower abdomen but at the same time his backside and his ass are worse and he doesn’t even know why.

“Do you remember anything about the heats you had before this?” The man asks and he flinches because the first thought is the hurting and only then can he think about the other time, the time he likes, but it had to have been enough because the fingers in his hair have wandered down to his cheek and it feels nice having a thumb caressing his cheekbone.

“Okay, shit. So, I’m going to tell you something that you can do. You don’t have to and if you feel uncomfortable or you don’t like it, you have to stop. This is not an order, but a suggestion, okay?”

The man catches his gaze with his own again and this time he nods because this seems to be important. And if it can ease the feeling he will do it.

“Good. You’re lying on your left arm, that’s why you’re going to take the right, okay?” He raises his right hand.

“I want you to touch where it feels bad, okay?” The man says.

He looks down at his body, not sure what to do, but then he puts his hand on his abdomen and looks at the man who seems to be satisfied with what he’s doing so far. Somehow satisfying the man is really important to him.

“Now add a bit of pressure and move your hand in small circles.”

It feels weird at first but after a few rounds he knows what the man means because it feels good, it makes him want to close his eyes and rest, if there wasn’t the horrible other feeling.

“Not enough?” The man asks and he shakes his head. The man moves his thighs and apologizes immediately.

“Um… never thought  _I_ would have to teach this to  _you_. Could you… slip your hand in the back of your pants?”

He nods and moves his hand where the man told him and for a moment he doesn’t really know what this is supposed to do but then he moves his hand and everything is wet.

He winces because this can’t be right but the man nods at him and he does the same as he did before – he’s really proud of himself that he remembers to do the same thing because it had felt good – and his fingers slip between his cheeks. It’s an alien feeling and he feels a bit around until he finds the worst point and adds pressure to it. His fingers sink right into it, two at a time and he flinches because this probably isn’t what he is supposed to do, but the fingers in his hair start caressing him again, so maybe he is doing something right.

He doesn’t know what to do with his fingers, but he likes the feeling it gives him, the weight, the fullness. It’s not enough but it eases the urge a bit.

“Move your fingers, try to find out what feels good. You can curl them to find your prostate and if you think you need more you can just add another one, okay?”

He nods and does what the man told him. He feels a bit insecure because he doesn’t really know what kind of reaction the man expects but when he buries his fingers in himself again and again and curls them now and then, he’s starting to pant, not the whiny weak panting that he had done before. He thinks there might not be that much of a difference, but it  _feels_  so different because he’s not just lying around, he’s doing something against it, and he thinks back to that one memory and the feeling he has now is very similar to the one back then.

He can’t stop moving his feet, it’s like his toes can’t stop cramping and he’s rubbing his forehead against the man’s leg again because he doesn’t know what else to do. He feels like he needs something else, more, but he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t know how to ask for it.

Every time he brushes that place inside him with his fingers he feels like he wants to jump in the air but then it would probably go away, so he resorts to doing it again and again until it’s not enough anymore and the man brushes his hair from his ear with his thumb.

“Add another one, if you need it.” He says and of course, he forgot that he could do that, so he adds his ring finger and for a moment it’s hurting because it seems too much –  _and he’s thrown back again to the table and the floor_  – but the man doesn’t stop petting his head and maybe that’s why he can come back so soon.

It takes a moment to adjust to the third finger but as soon as he does, it feels amazing and if he thought he had been full before it’s nothing to this feeling. He doesn’t remember what’s supposed to happen normally, he knows it has next to nothing to do with fingers –  _because there’s a faint memory of the tiny man’s fingers digging into his hips and then his shoulders and he still felt that pleasure then_  – and a part of him clings to this thought, that there should be more, that this is not enough and now he’s whining, deep from his throat and the man is cursing and he looks up, because this means he did something wrong, his thoughts are probably what made the man angry, but the man is just banging his head against the wall again, his free hand pressed against his crotch and he must realise that there’s someone looking at him because he stops and takes the hand away from his crotch.

Maybe he wants help? The man is after all petting his hair and he smells so good so maybe he should…  _pet_  the crotch.

It’s another thought that just gets a life of its own and before he can do anything he’s reaching out with his metal arm and the man grips it before he can touch anything.

“No, Bucky, this isn’t about me. This is about you.” Is this the control thing the man had talked about earlier? Does this mean he has the control? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to dwell on this thought because he’s been moving three fingers in himself for the past few minutes and the feeling, the urge, the… the emptiness is getting worse by the second.

“But it’s not enough.” He complains and when he thinks about this a second later it sounds so stupid because touching the man probably won’t make it better.

“I know.” The man says and then he helps him lie down on his thigh again. “I know, it’s just… It’s the only thing we can do at the moment.”

When he only bangs his forehead against the man’s thigh he gets a hand on his neck, keeping him still and also keeping him calm. He might like the feeling.

“Why don’t you add another one and we’ll see if we can make it go away?”

He bites the man’s leg but does as he’s told.

 

–

 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed but when the feeling, the warmth goes down enough for him to not constantly need five fingers in his ass, the man helps him get up and promises a shower.

He doesn’t really care if he showers or dies right at this moment because he doesn’t think he has ever felt so exhausted but he lets the man manhandle him into the shower and he knows what to do there so he does it.

The man leaves the room after that and soon comes back with towels.

When he’s getting out of the shower he realises that he doesn’t know what to do with the towels – there’s a part of him that knows that he should use them to dry himself, so he puts it on his arm and when he pulls it away the skin is more or less dry. He feels proud of himself because he figured this out for himself, but he doesn’t say anything when the man comes back with trousers and a shirt.

“How do you feel?” asks the man and he shrugs because he feels dead and exhausted but he already had to tell him that. He still feels warm but the man already told him that it’s normal because they didn’t do it right – and for a moment he had wanted to ask what right meant but then he didn’t, because if they didn’t do it right then it was probably for the best.

“I’m bringing you back to your room and then you can sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He doesn’t answer and just dresses while the man looks away and that feels really ridiculous because didn’t the man already see everything of him? When he’s wearing both the trousers and the shirt – but no shoes and the man apologises for this but apparently Stark insisted on protocols – he doesn’t know who Stark is, but the name sounds awfully familiar – the man brings him back to the room and now that he’s not hot anymore and he can think more clearly than before, the smell of the room hits him with full force. He thinks this might be the scent the man talked about, the one that was getting stronger before, but for him it smells like he did before he showered.

He doesn’t think he likes it and it makes him feel uncomfortable but when the man smiles at him, everything seems to getting better.

This time there’s a mattress in the room and the man helps him sit down. He realises in that moment that the man means to leave and he grips his hand because no, he doesn’t want the man to leave, the man makes it better.

The man sighs, then slips out of his shoes and shrugs off his jacket. He’s only wearing jeans and a shirt now, similar to his own, and that feels even better.

“I can’t promise that I’ll stay the whole time, but I can stay a while.”

He nods, because something is better than nothing and he is going to take what he can, as little as it might be.

It’s uncomfortable, the mattress obviously not meant for more than one person but somehow they make it fit and manage to get the blanket over the both of them – or the man manages because he doesn’t have any idea what to do.

It doesn’t take long – or maybe it does – for his eyes to close and his mind to calm.

 

–

 

At first he doesn’t know what wakes him, but the memory he dreamed this time is clearer than it was before, but it too slips away before he can think about it too much.

There’s a noise besides him and an arm slung around him that makes him feel warm and safe and he keeps his eyes closed to listen.

_“You have no idea how close I was, okay? I was seconds away from just shoving him on the ground and… mounting him like a freaking animal.”_

_“Shut up, Tony, this isn’t funny, and what if it happens again? What if I can’t control it next time?”_

He realises that the man is talking to someone over the phone and whoever it is, he’s not happy with them.

_“Just because he would let me doesn’t mean that I should, what the fuck is wrong with you?”_

_“No, this isn’t a joke for me, I – Yes I think I have the right to be worried and-“_

He can’t hear the whole conversation, only hears what the man is saying, but he thinks about the words. He isn’t sure that he understands all of them but he gets that the man was worried and he knows that whatever the other man said is right, because the last hours – or a day probably – are a blur in his mind but he remembers the need.

_“I just… I just don’t know what to do, okay. I feel totally out of my depth and you know what? I think he got better after they got him away from the chemical. Sometimes he wouldn’t even listen to me or would say something that he obviously hadn’t wanted to say but I think he remembered stuff.”_

_“I already told you that we didn’t have sex and what the hell is a magic healing cock?”_

There’s a pause and the man sighs against his neck.

_“…Yeah, you know what, next time I’ll just call Sam. Bye, Tony, yes, no, no you’re not allowed to visit him, yes I know it’s your facility, I don’t care. Goodbye, Tony.”_

The man huffs and it seems like he wants to pull his arm away but he doesn’t let him and puts his hand over the man’s. He doesn’t know if the man still believes that he’s sleeping but he lets his arm stay where it is and doesn’t take it away again.

When the man has gone dead still behind him again he threads their fingers together. It makes him remember another memory of  _two people on a horribly uncomfortable bed, loud noises and the stench of dead, blood and war outside. The people are lying the same way they are now, but both of them are not wearing anything, a pleasant pain in their limbs and a smile on both of their faces. He thinks he remembers talking and laughing and happiness and he hears the name again, the name the man uses for him, his name probably, and he hears himself say another name._

He doesn’t want to think about the memory because he doesn’t understand it at all – he remembers the tiny man and the man said he was the tiny man once but to make the connection is so hard for him – but this is one that stays and doesn’t go away.

He doesn’t know what it means that this is the first memory that just comes back like that, without pain and without fear, but he smiles and grips Steve’s hand a bit tighter before he slips back into unconsciousness.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it so far, congratulations, I nearly didn’t.  
> I don’t think I’ve ever had so many problems writing from a characters POV because of the way I wrote this (first time for me, I'm never writing like this again) but I actually really like how Bucky turned out because it was really important for me that he was struggling with the memories, struggling with everything he knew and well all the stuff he didn’t. I don’t think Hydra left a lot of stuff when they wiped him and I don’t think they left anything useful about sex so yeah that’s why he is the way he is here.  
> Would you believe me that I actually intended to write a pwp and this is the outcome? Probably not, but yeah, I decided around a thousand words that I couldn’t write a sex scene because of Bucky's mental state. He just never would have been able to consent and I think Steve is someone who has that kind of control, even if it’s hard for him. So yeah, no sex scene, maybe next time.  
> A big thanks to Alex for helping me with the title.  
> If you want to scream at me because I totally fucked this up or you just want to cry about Bucky and Steve with me, then you can find me [on tumblr](http://everknowing.tumblr.com/). My askbox is always open. ;)


End file.
